Still Here
by Nightmare Overture
Summary: After the war, he no longer considers him his family, his brother. The tensions between them have been hard, yet he can't bring himself to hate the younger, independent nation that he raised all those years ago. Especially when he seems to be hiding his sickness from everyone in an attempt to stay strong. Brotherly USUK, unless you want to see it as yaoi. One-shot.


_Hello readers who happened upon this little fic of mine…I'm not quite sure how to start out here, this being my first fic and all. I also hope I can pull this off with some level of decency…I don't know how well I'll do, but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless. No flames, please._

_I do not own Hetalia._

* * *

...That fool…showing up in such a condition. One day, that self-centered sense of pride is going to get him killed…

The meeting had unfolded and proceeded as it normally would, each nation taking their turn to speak on behalf of their own country's well-being, as well as other problems or concerns affecting the current state of affairs in the world. Time passed…

One of the nations seemed to lose interest in the discussions taking place, and stared quietly around the room at the beings of the other countries. Finally, his gaze settled on one younger nation in particular – specifically, his former colony.

He wouldn't be able to see the same little boy he raised without visualizing him facing him on the battlefield during the Revolutionary War...not anymore. Although, the tensions from those days had relatively been lost to time, the onlooking nation would always be aware of that rift between them. As his former older brother, England sometimes almost missed the relationship he had with that little punk America. Almost.

The older nation pushed such thoughts aside and looked back at where America was seated. No doubt what was to be expected from the egotistical country this time, as was always to be expected: some loud, overexcited speech about some ludicrous superhero who would be the answer to all the world's problems. The suggestions that the younger nation would come up with would sometimes sound so completely far-fetched, it was hard to believe he actually meant it as a possible solution.

Although…there was a certain feel about this time around…that it would be different for some reason. England seemed to notice the absence of the usual energetic air that would radiate from his former colony's being, the anticipation of announcing yet another odd and irrelevant solution to the world's problems...Indeed. Now that he studied further, America definitely looked different.

The nation's head seemed to be slightly bowed toward the table, his gaze cast downward like an animal in submission. His dark blonde hair was a ruffled mess on his head, as if he hadn't bothered to at least run a comb through it before leaving for the meeting. His dark-rimmed, half-lidded eyes appeared lifeless and overly bright, maintaining little focus to his surroundings, and his skin was noticeably several tones paler, beaded with sweat around his forehead. He would occasionally look up, as if to display a false sense of focus. Many times, he would drag a fist across his forehead or cough silently into the other.

England sighed in irritancy rather than concern at America's appearance. _Trying to act tough, as usual. The bloody git, _he scoffed to himself. Although he knew he should be a little less scathing of the country he practically raised, he let his annoyance take over. After all, America wasn't his colony anymore. He was old enough to take care of himself. He should have known better than to drag himself to a meeting in such poor health. In fact, it almost seemed like the younger nation was rather unenthusiastic if not dreading his turn speaking in the meeting.

All the while England internally ranted about the American, he couldn't help but feel worried. He had heard that the country's economy had faltered somewhat, but he had initially passed it off as a temporary issue. America, as obnoxious and strange as he was, was a strong country. A tiny economic problem shouldn't even affect him.

But…he really did look awful. What if the economy was worse than he thought?

Before he knew it, America himself was called up for his turn. England saw the slight surprise and unwillingness reflect in his dead, tired eyes before he stood up and made his way slowly to the front of the room. From there, America faked his usual strength and began with the status of his country,

"We had some pretty weird stuff going on with the stock markets for a while, but it's totally fine," he announced, the strength in his voice noticeably decreased despite his façade, "Yeah…so…it's nothing for a hero like me!"

England rolled his eyes at America, tuning him out as he delved into rather fictional ideas for solutions to Global Warming and the like. He almost didn't notice the sudden pause in America's speech. He looked up, seeing the blank expression on the younger nation's face, as if he'd completely forgotten what he was talking about. The hesitance caused several puzzled and questioning faces throughout the room,

"Are you going to finish?" Germany's voice came from the onlookers. England looked at America, whose forced strength was beginning to fail, and curiously awaited his answer.

"Er…I…" America tried to keep the confidence plastered to his face, but looked clearly conflicted. He cleared his throat, and shrugged, "Nah, I got my point across so…"

"You did?" came another voice, "you kind of just stopped in the middle of what you were saying…"

America forced a laugh, searching for an excuse, "Yeah well, I didn't want to completely…overwhelm you guys with the awesomeness of my ideas so…yeah…" After an awkward pause, the American retreated to his seat. There was another uncomfortable pause before another country replaced him at the front of the room.

* * *

"Alright, you twit, how long has this been going on?"

The meeting had disbanded, and everyone had begun to leave the room. America had attempted to slip out without being noticed, but was stopped and prompted by England.

America gave another forced, pained laugh, "W-what are you talking about man? Of course I've had so many totally great ideas for the world since we've started having these meetings so…"

England sighed harshly, "No, you idiot. I'm talking about your economy. Your health. I have a feeling there's more to your 'weird stock market stuff' than you're letting on, yes?"

America shrugged, "If I did, what would it matter? I could easily overcome it, like any hero could," he boasted, regaining some of his usual pride.

England rolled his eyes, "You arrogant git. At least you could have made your problems less obvious if you were planning to be so tough for everyone," he looked the younger nation up and down, "I mean look at you, you clearly look worse for wear. If you knew better, you probably shouldn't have even shown up at all the way you are."

The younger country met England's glower, "I said it's fine! It's my problems, and I can deal with it myself. I don't need anyone to worry over me, especially you." He growled.

The comment stung England, but he wouldn't give America the satisfaction of seeing it, "Fine then, I wouldn't want to get between you and your precious independence, _hero._" He muttered, before turning his back on the American.

He heard a dismayed, angry sound from his former colony, and felt him brush by him as he stalked toward the room's exit. _That bloody idiot has no idea what he's doing, does he? Heaven forbid he step down from his high horse for once…_

England sighed, almost regretfully as he realized what he'd said, but had no intention of making an apology. He began to make his way out of the room when the thudding sound of a large object hitting the floor made him stop. He quickly walked into the hallway outside the conference room, his heart skipping a beat,

"America…?"

The nation lay at his feet in the position he'd fallen in, deathly still and unconscious.

For a moment, he stood over America's body, as if trying to piece together what had just happened. Blinking in disbelief, he kneeled next to his former colony, shaking his shoulder roughly, "Hey! America! Get up already!"

No response.

England's hand flew to America's forehead, and drew away as quickly as if he'd touched a hot stove, "God damn it, you idiot. You should have just said something…" he growled, trying to conceal his worry.

* * *

The urgency of getting America back to his home almost got him into an accident on the road, but eventually England made it to his house. Now with the ailing nation laid on the sofa in the front room, covered in blankets, the older nation stood silently over him, waiting for his awakening.

He had taken his temperature earlier as 38.7 degrees, and had already retrieved a cold washcloth to lay across America's forehead to help manage it.

Minutes slipped by, before America began to stir. The ill nation attempted to sit up, but was gently pushed back down by England. The American blinked hazily, looking around the room in an attempt to process where he was. He looked up at England wearily, "Where…?"

"We're at my house. In case you don't recall, you fainted on your way out of the meeting room awhile ago," he gave his former colony a stern look, "It's obvious now that this isn't some light issue you're dealing with, so if you're any smarter than I've come to think you are, I suggest you allow me to help you."

America looked like he would protest, but said nothing. He sighed, almost in humiliation, and turned his head away, "F-fine…" he sighed.

England was silent for a moment, giving himself time to adjust his attitude, "Now then, America…you mind telling me what's really going on?"

America coughed a few times into his fist before replying, "I guess…the economy…is doing worse than I expected…" he murmured.

"_Shocking._" England scoffed sarcastically, gaining a weary glare from America,

" I don't…really know man…unemployment rates are…going up along with…this other crap…" he sighed quietly, "It's…not getting any better yet…"

England touched his shoulder gently, "How long has this been going on?" he asked.

America blinked his eyes shut, as if trying to concentrate. He gave a half-hearted shrug, "Don't remember…exactly. But I've been feeling…these headaches for a while now…" he rubbed his head as if for emphasis, "now…I guess it's gotten worse. I didn't…didn't think it'd get so…" he trailed off, and looked off into space.

England sighed, "There…was that so hard to confess, America?"

The younger country looked at him and nodded, "It's…hard to talk…" he murmured, letting out another string of painful-sounding coughs.

England blinked, "Right…then…why don't you just get some sleep then. I'll see what I can do about getting you something to eat…"

America's gaze snapped toward him, "You? F-food? Really…?" he muttered, not bothering to hide the sinking tone in his voice.

England huffed at his tone, "I was thinking of soup, if that's fine with you," he snapped, "Easy enough to make."

America sighed, "Okay…just be careful, 'kay?"

"I will be, you git. Now go to sleep."

* * *

In the end, England found himself quickly running off to the store to buy the simple microwavable canned soup for America, believing the nation would probably be reluctant to try anything that was homemade under his roof.

The Brit returned at nightfall to a twitching, sleeping American right where he left him on the couch, and retired to the kitchen.

No sooner had he gotten out the necessary supplies when America's sudden scream nearly made him jump out of his skin. England was at his side in a heartbeat, looking down at a panting, wild-eyed nation. He grabbed the younger country's shoulder, "America…!"

America seemed to recoil from the contact, and his eyes searched England's face with unfamiliar confusion. He shuddered as tears ran down his face, "Wh-where are you…?"

"America, for God's sake, I'm right here! What was that scream about anyway? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"…" America continued to stare at him, not recognizing the voice or the face of England.

England blinked, "America…? What's happened…?" he asked slowly.

America let out a sob, shivering almost convulsively under the blankets, "Where are you, England? I'm sorry, okay?!" he cried out.

England paused, and tentatively felt America's forehead again, pulling away in shock. While he had been out, the fever had spiked to an alarmingly high level. He cursed himself for leaving the sick nation unattended, for letting his condition escalate like this,

"America, calm down! I need you calm down, alright?" he tried to console his former colony, but his words seemed to have no meaning to the suffering country, who was clearly in a state of delirium. England found his own hands shaking in worry for America, "Damn it, stay with me, okay? Your fever's gotten worse. You're becoming delirious..."

He was reluctant to leave his side, and attempted to lift him up again to take him to the bathroom in order to cool him down, "D-Damn it…you are…intensely heavy!" he remarked as he struggled to hold him. When he reached the bathroom, he lowered America into the bathtub and turned the water on the coldest setting possible. The country shuddered as the icy water rose around him, and immediately grabbed ahold of England's shirt,

"I'm d-drowning…!" he cried, shivering pathetically as the level rose around his waist. England attempted to pry the country's hands off of him,

"You git, you're not drowning. I'm right here, I'll make sure you won't drown." England huffed, unsuccessful in trying to pull free of America's grasp.

"Please…" America begged, "I'm sorry, okay…? Don't let me drown…I didn't mean it…"

"Didn't mean what?" England prompted.

America sobbed again, as the water rose up around his chest. At this point, England leaned over to turn off the tap. He shook America's shoulder, "Calm down, will you? You've nothing to be sorry about." He snapped, still trapped in America's death grip.

"But…" The nation murmured in a weak voice, "I'm sorry I was so thoughtless, I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to the pr-problems we were having. I'm sorry I'm always doing the wrong thing and that I'm just so c-careless and can't do anything right…just please don't h-hate me…"

England stared at America in shock, "America, don't say such things…" he said gently, "I don't, nor have I ever hated you…"

"I'm sorry England, I'm so…so sorry…I can't…I'm not…strong enough…" America whimpered.

"No, America…" England murmured to him, "You are strong. You're the strongest country I know, and you've always been, ever since you were little." He found his fingers gently stroking through the nation's sweat-sticky hair, "We've fought in the past…even today…I should also be apologizing. You…you are capable of taking care of yourself. I was only worried about your well-being…"

America was silent now, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

England sighed, "Seeing you grown up like this…I can't help but remember the days we spent together. I can't help but remember that those days are gone…but no matter what a bull-headed, arrogant git you can be…I could never hate you."

America blinked hazily, "Me…too…" he said quietly, "Even if you're such a jerky limey a lot of the time…"

England looked sharply at him,

"…Can't hate you either…" America finished, sounding worn out. He shivered, "Cold…"

England checked his forehead again, and found with relief that his fever had gone back down. He helped his former nation out of the freezing water, let him dry himself off and dress before helping him back on the couch, where he quickly drifted off to sleep.

England sat next to him, his gaze fixed on his steady breathing patterns as the minutes ticked by. Soon enough, the Brit found himself yawning and leaning into the couch with exhaustion, realizing how late it must be. He sighed, looking over at America's sleeping form before his eyes drifted shut, "Goodnight, you git." He yawned, before sleep overcame him.

_What do you think? I don't think it was too bad for a first try…_

_Reviews would be much appreciated.~_


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